


water wall

by blue_roses



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Gay, Gift, M/M, the pre ending clip thing no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone was by his side that time, wisps of silver, violet, blue joined together. He still can’t remember a name. But he wants to, more than anything else in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	water wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sormik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sormik/gifts).



> happy birthday to my dear friend zav!!! i threw this together really fast but i hope you enjoy it <3

  He wakes up with blond hair feeling a little nostalgic, and he can’t figure out why. He knows a face, half of a name, and an exhaustion that pulls on his bones. He’s in a dark place, which makes inexplicable sense to him. The steps are familiar, he looks at history as if it’s the present day, comes up with theories to share. He doesn’t know who comes to mind, not yet, but he thinks he will if he leaves this place. 

  It starts with a climb, up, up, up. There is,  _ was _ someone calling his name in desperation. He doesn’t remember what it is, he wishes he could, just so he could say  _ I’m here!  _ He tries for a moment, and even though he should be able to speak, he can’t. Something tells him the time has passed to say everything is going to be okay, he doesn’t even know what everything is. 

  It’s a mausoleum, hasn’t been alive for ages. Ruins still untouched, he’s happy about that, that there’s been no raining of ransacking. Reassuring, for whatever reason. The doors are open, yet no one has entered, maybe this was his resting place. Even with what he is now, he can’t imagine anyone viewing him as sacred. He just did what he needed.

  What he needed? What was that? He tries to go back, to before, and only finds blurred faces, faded ideals, and someone clearer than the rest. He looks down at his hands, brown gloves with unknown symbolism and sees wisps of silver where there aren’t any. Instead there’s an elemental aura that surrounds him, the sound of a bullet replays in his mind. 

 There’s a room, pristine among the darkness below. Clean, but he feels lingering grief. Maybe that’s what’s affecting him when he cries, for someone who he can’t remember. Someone was by his side that time, wisps of silver, violet, blue joined together. He still can’t remember a name. But he wants to, more than anything else in the world.

  Remnants of past destruction linger in his path, he’s lacking the armor he’d use. He doesn’t need it anymore, nor does he know what that meant, but he knows what he’s lacking. So he walks, in a direction only known to him, winding into an open field. It’s only then that he stills, to take a breath of fresh air. To see a sky that tells him he succeeded, even if what he did is lost on him. He’s grateful, so, so grateful he can feel the smile stretch across his face. 

  He looks at a winding path, thinks of blonde hair and ribbons with a spear, and continues on. This is practiced , even though muscle memory shouldn’t apply to this situation. He was never alone in this, he thinks, he was with that person. That person, who never let him go until he forced himself to leave. He wonders what they’d--what  _ he’d  _ say when he saw the world. The thought makes his heart swell, so he focuses on half names and muscle memory that shouldn’t be there to guide him. 

  Down, down, down, it’s shallow, but smaller feet remembered differently. He feels his head, the feather isn’t there. He’s sure it isn’t important, but he still feels let down. The depths of blue leak out of these ruins, and he knows he’s safe here, as he’s always been. He makes a few leaps and bounds, ones Mikleo would say are reckless, but--

_ Mikleo?  _ Mikleo, Mikleo, Mikleo. It’s a name, a name that’s everything, a name he’ll never let go of, a name of someone who was everything. Who still is, and that’s who he’s looking for. He doesn’t even know his own name, but he knows Mikleo, and that’s more than enough. The rest can come, the rest he’ll know in time, but he knows what counts for now. Who was there, who  _ is _ , and he’s complete.

  It’s practically the same memory, positions switched. He hears a noise, someone falling, and he rushes with everything he’s got and takes a hand that’s reaching for a ledge.  _ Ah,  _ he thinks,  _ he’s silver and violet and purple.  _ That shouldn’t be enough to know, but it is.

  “Sorey,” Mikelo says. His eyes are wide, and there will be emotions and memories of all kinds, but Sorey wants to feel joy first. Hasn’t he always? 

  “Mikleo,” Sorey says, “I’m here.” He pulls Mikleo up, and they sit there, for a moment.

  “I can see that,” Mikleo says, he’s smiling but the tears are welling up in his eyes. Always so quick to emotion, that’s what Sorey loves about him. Among everything else, of course. Sorey doesn’t know what brings him to kiss Mikelo’s eyelids, to prove something, to show something. There are so many somethings, but when Mikleo looks at him as if he’s everything, Sorey lets himself  _ be _ .


End file.
